This is the debut album from Germany’s Kvlt of Hiob and I have to say that I don’t recall ever hearing anything quite like this. It’s very unique sounding to say the least. Imagine a Black Metal band that is one part Celtic Frost, one part Darkthrone, one part old Abruptum (the Torture Ambient era that featured It and All, not the more modern “Militant Industrial” stuff with Morgan from Marduk), and one part Dark Ambient/Industrial. This shit is absolutely fucking insane sounding. The atmosphere on this record is genuinely creepy and dark. I’ve heard literally thousands of Black Metal albums, but it’s rare to hear one that genuinely sounds twisted and evil like Thy Kingly Mask does. The music is harrowing enough, but the vocals sound like someone being tortured into insanity (hence the reference to Abruptum). The two elements together are like the Satanic equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter - the combination is greater than the sum of its parts. Alone, both the music and the vocals are evil. The two together are the soundtrack to a descent into Hell.

The rapevine chatter is that Bombs of Hades play straight-up Swedish Crust and feature members of The Crown and God Macabre. That’s more-or-less accurate, if by “member_s_” you mean Jonas Stalhammar, and to “play Crust” you add “sometimes.” Granted, I unfortunately haven’t heard their 2010 debut Chambers of Perversion, but the bulk of this sophomore outing is too multi-dimensional to pigeonhole with a single genre tag. “Crawl Away and Bleed Forever ” opens The Serpent’s Redemption with vintage Swedeath tremolo-picking that becomes a vicious Death ‘n’ Roll stomp not unlike The Crown’s. This standout cut is proof that nothing drives home a chorus like Celtic Frost hooks. “Darkness, My Soul,” “Burn,” and “Incubus Descending” are pure Old School Death Metal with a hint of the Motorhead-fueled swagger of Uprising-era Entombed. The title track is a bit of a dud. Just a plodding Waltz with uninspired dirges that go nowhere. Despite a quirky break, “Forgotten in Graves” is full-on Crust, as is raucous D-beat anthem “Skull Collector.” The epic “Scorched Earth” closes the LP by sandwiching its Swedeath assault between an ominous, atmospheric beginning and a spooky, psychedelic ending. This record knows when to be tight and when to be loose, but no matter how untamed the music can be at times, Stalhammar’s razor sharp rasp always reins it in with Blackened, Deathly force. The only thing I don’t like is the production. They understandably went for a raw, organic feel, but it isn’t raw or organic enough. Compared to how prominent the vocals are in the mix, the drums, guitars, and bass sound miles away. Quiet, reserved, and buried in the distance, it’s almost as if they were recorded live in one take with minimal microphone usage. Tunes this morbidly filthy need to rip through the speakers like zombie teeth through brains. Luckily the songwriting is strong and interesting enough to shine through regardless. A few minor flaws to iron out, but overall a very enjoyable album from a band to keep an ear on.

Century Media celebrates the career of these legendary French Canuck Death/Grind masters as it wraps up its second decade, and just in time for Christmas(sacre). This 2-disc set spans over 135 minutes, featuring previously unreleased, live, and rehearsal tracks, plus a greatest hits collection from the band’s first 6 studio LPs. We begin with 3 unreleased songs from 2011. Not the most memorable cuts, but a welcome return to the tech-frenzied pummeling and straightforward brutality that endeared them to the underground from the beginning. Up next, a cover from CM’s Covering 20 Years of Extremes comp. They do “Oh My Fucking God” from Strapping Young Lad’s City LP —the last time Heavy Devy did something relevant— and pretty much nail it, although I would’ve went with “All Hail the New Flesh.” The next 3 tracks are from 2008’s The Unspoken King. Widely perceived as the group’s Cold Lake, it’s no surprise that the songs chosen are the most brutal, clean vocal-free selections the album has to offer. Not so much awkward as flat-out boring, whether or not material from this record belongs on a “best of” is up for debate. I propose a similar argument for the ensuing 3 cuts from 2005’s Once Was Not — Lord Worm’s short-lived return to the fold. In my opinion, the most confused and least memorable work of their career, and a precursor to the Prog-Core insanity that would follow. Disc 1 closes out with highlights from the Mike DiSalvo era (2000’s And Then You’ll Beg and 1998’s Whisper Supremacy), his gruff bellow and the band’s relentless hellbent-on-world-domination energy now sorely missed. Disc 2 begins with 5 classic anthems from 1996’s None So Vile and —still to this day my all-time favorite— 1994’s Blasphemy Made Flesh. I probably still have the soiled underwear from the first time I heard “Defenestration” somewhere around the house. It can be argued that these two albums alone are Cryptopsy’s greatest hits, but I digress. Disc 2 closes out with the live (from 2003’s None So Live and the Japan-only bonus tracks from And Then You’ll Beg and Once Was Not) and rehearsal (demo songs for Whisper Supremacy) portions. A nice bonus, but nothing you can’t live without. Nothing beats actually being there, as watching Flo Mounier batter his unending drum kit remains one of my fondest Milwaukee Metalfest memories. Overall, a decent package despite some questionable selections, and the ultimate gift for the ultimate Cryptopsy fan. Word on the street is the band have a new self-released, self-titled album out now that’s reported to be a total return to form. Time will tell.

For those of you like myself who shit a brick sideways at the notion of a new Morgion album upon seeing this in print, get a wet-nap and clean yourself up. The band is still defunct, God of Death and Disease is merely unearthed demo material. Not that it isn’t welcomed and long overdue. Cheers to Dark Descent for shining a well-deserved light on the infancy stages of these Cali Death/Doom legends. What’s on display here is 1993’s Travesty demo, 1991’s Rabid Decay demo, and a live rehearsal. While the group would eventually burgeon into one of the most enchanting Doom acts American soil had to offer (1997’s crushing debut Among Majestic Ruin, 1999’s haunting Solinari, and 2004’s swansong Cloaked by Ages, Crowned in Earth are about as essential as listening gets for the gloom-addicted), they began as a pure Death Metal band. As much as I worship at the altar of Morgion, I’ll be the first to admit that GoDaD is a take-it-or-leave-it affair. On one hand you have the novelty aspect. None of these recordings have ever seen a proper release, and none of the songs themselves would actually make it onto an official Morgion offering. There’s also the time-travel appeal. Revisiting the humble beginnings of such an inspiring band makes for great nostalgia, not to mention the Peter North load blown by completists worldwide. However, the material itself doesn’t have a ton of staying power. Don’t get me wrong, it’s dark, it’s brutal, it’s primitive, it’s morbid, it sounds like circa ‘91 Asphyx and Morgoth on cheap downers and a studio budget of $3.50, but it’s a hard-boiled egg fart in the wind compared to the music they would come to make. We’re talking zero-memorability and a rough sound quality. Not Death by Metal rough, but rough enough to provoke the occasional cringe. This is demo tape-to-mp3 transfer, and while I’ve no doubt that guitarist, keyboardist, vocalist, graphic designer, and all-around wind beneath Morgion’s wings Gary Griffith did the best job he could, it leaves much to be desired. Speaking of desire, the band is playing a reunion show at the Maryland Deathfest in 2013. If you never got the chance to witness the sheer power and awe of a Morgion gig, you should book the hotel now. It will be life-affirming and LOUD! Just don’t bet on any of these old tunes making the setlist, and unfortunately for good reason.

Stunning. Mesmerizing. A monument of grief. Crushing. Amazing. An irrefutable classic. What a masterful debut from Bell Witch, and what a remarkable year for Doom 2012 has been. From the opening notes of “Bails (Of Flesh),” Longing’s morose magnetism instantly pulls the listener in and simply does not let go. A 20-minute epic so captivating it feels like half that length, or it could just be that the band’s sonic maelstrom of incredibly slow Funeral Doom creates a languor in which time no longer exists. This duo (featuring a member of Samothrace) come off like the manic depressive offspring of Mournful Congregation and Pallbearer, as if comparisons could even begin to scratch this surface. Pure melancholic alchemy atop layers of Earth-shaking heaviness. Melodies capable of melting broken hearts intertwined with dirges capable of melting icecaps. A multifaceted vocal approach seals the deal throughout these soul-crushing 67 minutes. The first style we’re treated to is a morbidly desolate, long-winded growl. As compulsory as the death knell of a prehistoric beast, this is just one of several tools. It’s the clean vocals that push this beyond the boundaries of sorrow as we know it. Whether it be the graceful, choir-like pitch of the opener, the chanted evocations of “Longing (The River of Ash),” or the fragile, delicate croons of “Rows (Of Endless Waves),” it’s the clean vocals that transform this from music to magic. There’s also the occasional Blackened shriek of the utmost torment. I don’t know what more could you possibly ask for. What’s that? You want a Vincent Price sample as well? How’s The Masque of the Red Death for you? Yes, “Beneath the Mask” is a cheerlessly foreboding instrumental set to an excerpt from the Poe classic. Bell Witch has crafted that rare opus that does no wrong, and when you think it can’t get any better, it does just that. The album’s ending creates an instant void that can only be filled with more of itself. Longing doesn’t beg for repeated listens, it demands them. Somehow there is consolation in its plodding emptiness. Beautiful. Sullen. An unparalleled worship of Negativity completely void of all hope. What a tremendous year for Doom, indeed.

If there’s a more under-appreciated band in the pantheon of Death Metal’s elite, I’d like to know about them. All Sinister have done is kick ass for 20 years —amidst a small-town phonebook’s worth of lineup changes no less— yet they aren’t spoken of with the same reverence as the Swedish, Floridian, or East Coast all-stars of their era. Taking a look back and realizing that every album has been quality material, you begin to see just how remarkable this run has been. Classics like Diabolical Summoning and Hate shaped my youth, and I will argue that Aggressive Measures deserves consideration for the best-Death-Metal-album-of-all-time conversation. Hindsight reveals I’ve been listening to this record steadily for 14 years! I can practically recite the damn thing from memory! How many Death Metal albums from 1998 can you say that about? True, some records have been better than others, which unfortunately leads into The Carnage Ending. Not a bad record —I don’t believe Sinister could make a bad record if they tried— but it isn’t the one I’ll be reaching for when the day comes that the carnage does end. Once again, lineup tumult factors in. Aad Kloosterwaard (drums 1988-2003, vocals 2005-present) is now the only remaining original member. Even longtime bandmate Alex Paul —who just as recently as 2008’s The Silent Howling wrote all the music and lyrics— is gone now. With respect to Aad and his newly assembled cohorts, you get 110% of what they’ve got. Songs like “Transylvania (City of the Damned),” “Regarding the Imagery,” “Blood Ecstacy,” and the title track sizzle with that familiar Sinister riffing style and Aad’s trademark bestial roar. Newest drummer Toep Duin (ex-Unlord, ex-Melechesh) is a fucking demon from Hell on the kit as well. But in terms of memorability, this can’t even hold a candle to 2010’s Legacy of Ashes. Too much of the LP feels like a legendary band going through their legendary motions… if that makes any sense at all. It ultimately lacks the staying power of their army of classics, which, fairly or unfairly, I’ll always judge them by. Speaking of legendary classics, it might help to track down the Limited Edition for its bonus disc featuring five deadly covers. The best of which include Massacre’s “Succubus,” Possessed’s “Swing of the Axe,” and Celtic Frost’s “Dethroned Emperor.”

Fact: I’m running out of shit to say about Rogga Johansson. Cut me a little slack, dude’s in 45 bands that all sound like Grave. That’s enough to give any reviewer Rogga block. I guess it wouldn’t be an issue if all of those bands weren’t totally fucking awesome, but a collective releasing schedule more relentless than an Ultimate Heat Corn Nuts/MGD dump at 4am only adds to the difficulty. Example: this is the fourth Revolting album in as many years. Now throw in multiple Paganizer releases over that span, plus new Ribspreader, Putrevore, and 11th Hour records all in 2012 alone, and you begin to see my plight. Does Rogga even own a bed? How about a TV? Can we at least get the guy a snack in between albums? It’s a truly amazing level of DEADication that’s hard to keep up with, but I’ll try. I get the sense from album #4 that Revolting is definitely Johansson’s fun outlet. Not that Hymns of Ghastly Horror is a joke by any means, but certain elements reveal the man letting his hair down (and if anyone’s earned the right…). The foundation here is unsurprisingly Old School Swedeath, but it’s highly dosed up on Punkish energy and even a traditional Heavy Metal lick or two. Opener “The Mother of Darkness” leads off with such a nod before launching into full-on Crustiness replete with intro-melody-mutated-into-Dismember-hook chorus and Crossover break. Wailing Rock leads infiltrate the otherwise straightforward “Their Thoughts Can Kill” and “Ravenous Alien Spawn,” while the sample-ridden instrumental “The Thing That CHUD Not Be” and strutting chugfest of “Kinderfeeder” are downright danceable! However, when the boys take a more stone-faced approach to the meloD-beat fury, as on grim standouts “Lair of the Black Queen,” “Prey to Katahdin,” and “The Hatchet Murders,” the record is at its strongest. Rogga’s beyond bestial growl —in particularly legendary form throughout— also helps keep the album honest. Summary: this is a much more cohesive effort than 2011’s In Grisly Rapture, and while arguably not as essential as Johansson’s other 44 bands, not a bad time either.

I firmly abide by the Bloodbath motto of “brutality comes through simplicity,” but when it comes to the self-titled debut from Sweden’s Decomposed, things might be a little too simple. First off, bad band name. Nothing wrong with the word itself, in fact it’d make the perfect Death Metal moniker… if there weren’t already 438 bands using it! I had to hire Indiana Jones and the Cheaters team to find out which Decomposed this was. How bad is this band name? I thought this was the new Debauchery. I admit I am borderline Downs, but it still caused a brain fart and those two words aren’t even close. Clearly it’s a cursed name (just ask the other 438 unnoticed Decomposeds), but enough about it, on to the music itself. Honestly, I wish there were more to talk about. It’s primal, it’s raw, it’s simple, it’s decent, and it couldn’t be more Old School. How Old School is it? During the verses to opener “Stench of Death,” I was constantly expecting the next words grunted out of Jesper Ekstal’s mouth to be, “Necrocannibal eats dead cunt.” I know what you’re thinking. Slaughter’s “Death Dealer,” where’s the beef? Well, I was also waiting for “Necrocannibal eats dead cunt” during “Engulfed in Darkness” …and on “Macabre Vision” …and on “Ceremonial —wait for it…— Slaughter.” Long story short: turns out it’s one of only a few tricks this dog knows. To their credit, they do surround the Strappado love with some truly headbangable, basic-but-effective Swedeath riffage. I like their energy, their grit, their filth-purity, and the vibes they conjure up literally effortlessly (see the morbidly Doomy feel of “Ethereal Landscapes”), but music this no-frills has to be catchier, more anthemic than what’s on display here. This is enjoyable, but too easily it fades into background noise, not begging loudly enough for repeated listens. A better production —not necessarily cleaner, but bigger/louder— might’ve helped. The vocals in particular could use a little work. In summary: not bad, not great, but certainly not without future poTENtial. I’ll go out on a limb and say they’re the best Decomposed yet.

“Alan hated life.
He would always stare into the mirror screaming, ‘YOU ARE SUCH A DISGUSTING CUNT!’”
How else would you expect Whoretopsy to start out a recording? While I’m a little bummed that we don’t actually get to hear them cover Stevie Wonder, I am truly thankful that we didn’t have to wait long for another peek into the deranged imagination of Australia’s most disturbed Death Metal band. Following mere months after this year’s They Did Unspeakable Things, these degenerate sickos spin four more tales of morbid debauchery. Opener “High School Sweetheart” isn’t your typical boy-meets-kidnaps-ties-up-rapes-murders-eats-girl story (“cum seeps from her swollen chapped hole / it tastes like salty onions mixed with soap”), but then again nothing about Whoretopsy lyrics are typical. Other avenues explored include human furniture (“Skinterior”), taking a circle jerk to the next level (“Seminal Torture”), and good ol’ fashioned drunken cunt-hunting (“Eviscerated Harlot”). But it isn’t just the brilliantly obscene lyrics to get excited about. The band sounds like a tighter overall unit instrumentally, and a much stronger production than the debut serves to bring Storma’s guttural growls out more as well. Whether blasting at full speed, chugging at mid-pace, windmill riffing to a double-bass assault, or completely breaking down to a crawl via lethal pit riffage, the Aussies convincingly deliver the gory goods. Sure, they aren’t reinventing the brutal Death Metal wheel, but with storytelling this depraved, they don’t have to. Thirteen minutes of (severed) headbangability that just might have all the other gorenography-obsessed lyricists sprinting to the drawing board.
“Richard slips the girl’s spleen on his knob, then he cums into it like an old sports sock. Lady of the night hidden under some sticks.”
(Curtain closes. Thunderous applause.)